a poem by Lonnie Monka

are all parallel lines fully disconnected

just because they don't touch in space?

perception permits curious means of impression

---

at that Florentine bar of unknowns

after our lives crossed on the internet

we gradually met face to hesitant face

---

wafting waves of vanilla she blunted the bar musk

& I strained my vocal chords to scream

discovering the silent understanding in a stop

---

she smelled like my first love during sex

causing unvoiced requests for being bitten & scratched

to obsess me--to clench fistfuls of love-handles

---

her hand reached over to examine mine

"your intellectual line curves towards the emotional" she said

tracing my palm with her finger--"but they don't meet"

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